In Class Assignment: Character Archetypes
Protagonist Dirt was eleven. Still decidedly a child. A child who bore far more woes than any child deserves to bare. He sat on the hard, packed earth that made up the road between two structurally unsound buildings, clothed in nothing but large sheets of dirtied, grayish cloth. In his hand he held a brass cup, with four simple objects inside. A piece of a brick, one shiny coin, a dried leaf, and a dead lizard. These things, including the cup and the sheets on his back, were all Dirt had to his name, if you could even call it a name. He went by what those around him yelled at him, whatever name he might have had, lost. Every day Dirt sat in this same place, between these two decrepit buildings, and held out his cup, hoping to add to the riches inside it. Most ignored him, some sped up to walk past him, and some stopped only to spit in his face. But some days were not so bad, and some days a kind soul would stop and drop a few coins in his cup, or hand him a small bag with something to eat. Today was one such lucky day. A kindly older woman stooped low to some difficulty, and handed Dirt a still warm, freshly baked loaf of bread. Dirt locked eyes with the woman and smiled a brilliant smile, one that the woman nearly gasped at. She was filled with warmth and love with that smile. “Thank you,” Dirt said, in a scratchy and hoarse voice that somehow perfectly fit his name. Despite how weak the sound was, the woman was floored by the quiet strength behind it. The woman, nodded, then stood and left the boy, feeling somehow a little renewed and a little younger than she had when she stooped down. Dirt watched the woman go, genuine gratitude shining in his eyes. Then, he took a small bite of the loaf of bread, savoring the soft, springy texture and the warmth that radiated from it and filled him. The the rest of the loaf was later divided equally among all the street children and adults that Dirt knew, each getter to share in that little moment of joy and gratitude that the warm loaf of bread provided. Antagonist The man in red, as Dirt called him, for he didn’t know his name, had finally found him. He had found many other street children, and all Dirt knew was that when he found them, Dirt never saw them again. He did not know what the man in red did, but Dirt was terrified of him. The man was an angry, gruff looking man, on the older side, but still held up by significant muscle. He carried a cane with him at all times that was not used to help him walk. His rich red boots matched his big red coat, which matched the bright red color that spilled from Dirt’s knee when the man smacked him with the cane and caused him to crash to the earth. “Get up,” snarled the man. “I won’t have no weaklings in my workshop.” Dirt stood with shaky legs, brass cup still firmly in his hands. The man wrenched it from the boy, looked inside, and scoffed. He dumped the contents on the ground and crushed them beneath the heel of his shiny leather boot, then tossed the cup aside with a dull clatter. Dirt, who was normally a very docile and submissive child, flared up at the loss of his treasures, he dove to the ground and began shoving the man’s boot and scratching at his leg. The man in red roared in anger and grabbed Dirt by the collar, hauling him up in a way that partially choked him. “You’re mine now, ya worthless shit, you will learn to behave,” he spat, then tossed Dirt back to the ground. “I will ''make ''you behave,” the red man hissed, raising his cane again. Role Reverse Interaction Dirt stood tall, practically looming over the man that was usually much taller than him, but now currently curled on the ground, sniveling, snot dripping from his nose and dirt clouding his eyes. A hoard of other children stood behind Dirt, looking stoic. “Get out,” said Dirt clearly and without falter. “Th-this is my shop,” the man in the red coat tried to yell forcefully, but it came out more as a whimper. “You can’t kick me out of m-my shop.” Dirt showed no expression on his youthful face as he stared down at the man he was forcing away. He did not care for the well to do, and certainly not one who could not seem to spare a handful of change. The boy turned his back on the cowering man, and as he did, it seemed to signal the rest of the children to act. All of the children swarmed the man in the red coat, screaming and kicking and biting and scratching at him. The man yelled at them to stop and cursed and kicked, and then stopped moving all together. The sea of children parted and Dirt stood there again. He crouched down, observing the man who was beat beyond recognition with a detached expression. Then he walked around behind the man, and pulled off his shiny red boots.